


Filthy Hot

by Val_Creative



Series: YOI WEDNESDAYS [17]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anonymous Sex, Clubbing, Comfort/Angst, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Facials, Friendship, Glory Hole, M/M, Pre-Series, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Viktor doesn't hate intimacy, but alackof control. He experiments with this notion in a public bathroom.





	Filthy Hot

**Author's Note:**

> So back in middle school, I heard the term "glory hole" and listened to other kids giggle about it. It took years later to figure out what the hell it was, and MORE YEARS to write it so here you have it ahahah! My first attempt with using glory holes in (fan)fiction. PURE PORN. ENJOY IT. COMMENTS/THOUGHTS APPRECIATED. 
> 
> I nicked the prompt " **[Victor/Any + NSFW, glory-holes, blowjobs, facials](http://yoikinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/154262874902/victorany-nsfw-glory-holes-blowjobs-facials)** " off the YOI Kink Meme.

 

*

Christophe is the _wild_ _one_ out of both of them.

That's why he needs to leave the throes of the dance floor before another unnamed woman forces her slobbering, _possessive_ tongue into Viktor's mouth, or another unfamiliar body grinds on him, purposely throwing off Viktor's balance while they're all pressed together.

It's not the intimacy that is the problem with this — it's more an obvious lack of _control_ that Victor cannot stand in high doses.

He brushes off the fragments of gold and silver confetti from his dark, cashmere suit, out of his platinum-colored bangs. He wipes absently at the thick layer of coral orange lipstick against his chin and lower lip, squinting his eyes.

The men's room lighting is severe and brightly fluorescent — nothing at all similar to the low glow of the club. Viktor groans and wipes his mouth again, heading for an empty stall.

It's _filthy._ Dirt and mildew around the floor, surrounding a pale brown toilet.

Viktor is fairly certain that the toilet _had_ to have been a pristine, immaculate white when it first arrived. That's when he hears someone hurriedly unbuckling their belt in the neighboring stall. A _hole_ — right smack on the stall wall, gaping open on Viktor's left and on knee-level, its edges masked by faded, ripped duct tape.

He's already staring at it with mild interest when someone sticks — _of course_ a penis. _Of course_.

It's bulbous and cut, fatter than Viktor's own. Plenty of blood darkening the surface. A couple of minutes pass before his stall's neighbor gives up, pulling their dick back and buckling their trousers, grumbling and cursing in English.

Before exiting, Viktor hears them _bang!_ their first on Viktor's ballroom stall door, walking out.

His pulse thrums, drying Viktor's mouth.

 _What_ _was_ … …

He has a vague idea of what that hole signifies, but never experienced one in real life.

_(Christophe probably has.)_

At the thought of his best friend, likely getting another drink and flirting with a cute bartender, Viktor tries to will himself to _leave_ too, breathing heavily. What's the point of staying…?

By the time his focus returns, another neighbor has already settled in, inserting their cock through the glory-hole. It's longer and growing fully erect by the second, popping with veins.

 _That's_ a near perfect cock, in Viktor's opinion.

He releases the pent-up air in his lungs, hands beginning to quiver when Viktor kneels down. Palms bearing down against the stall-wall, he leans in and breathes onto the tip, his nostrils picking up the scent of light sweat.

When he hears a faint, _encouraging_ moan, Viktor opens his lips, mouthing the brown cock.

The foreskin tastes damp and bittery where Viktor's tongue laves, circling the base slowly. He hasn't sucked anyone off in over four months, not since the last GPF — would being out of practice even _matter_ with the anonymity?

His neighbor startles him with a _powerful_ forward thrust, hitting the back of Viktor's throat and earning a noisy, choking noise.

He swallows down another gag, letting the cock thrust as it liked, quickening its pace. Viktor hears a telltale moan, feels the length of the cock twitching _harder_ , before pulling off.

Come shoots onto Viktor's face, body-hot and sticky, drooling onto his lips and right cheek.

 _Fuck_.

That shouldn't be so erotic — but yet, here he is, ruining his expensive, cashmere pants, jonesing for another cock, this one paler, _redder_.

It fits nicely, smoothly inside the cavernous warmth, a hair below _pounding_ Viktor's mouth.

He's gagging this time, whining out, tears stinging and flooding the corners of Viktor's eyes. As difficult as it is to believe, he's not feeling out of control. This cock _belongs_ to him. His neighbor is at _Viktor's_ mercy, his pleasure.

When the next round of come spills, Viktor clamps his lips tightly to this newest cock, allowing his mouth and esophagus to fill up, thicken with oozing semen.

The portion he hasn't swallowed ends up in the toilet water, as Viktor spits loudly, his throat _raw_.

No one acknowledges him or asks for his name, or thanks him, or babbles out praises when Viktor willingly uses himself as their cock-sleeve, his facial muscles now aching. His throat tasting like _heat_ and different flavors of come.

A little more calmer, Viktor licks his upper lip and raises to his feet, slowly as possible.

The bathroom empty, with only him and — well, there's no _silence_ with the echoing booms of the club's music beyond the entrance door.

By either fortune or folly, Christophe wanders in, looking exasperated and disleveled. The same coral orange lipstick on his collar. "Viktor, there you — _jesus_ ," he lowers his voice to a whisper.

Viktor sniffs and looks away, wetting a paper towel, rubbing off his chin.

"I'm fine," he says, wincing internally at how _guttural_ he sounds.

"And you call me impulsive, is that it…?" Christophe points out, gently helping Victor. Another moist paper towel, balled up in Christophe's hand, wipes off Viktor's lower face. The other man peers over him, tossing the mess, before kissing Viktor's mouth and then his forehead softly. "Exercise caution in loneliness, _cher_. Don't let yourself get trapped."

Despite the apathetic look, Viktor's eyes feel like _stinging_ once more. "Sure," he murmurs.

It's more of a croak, _broken_.

Perhaps like him.

 

*

 


End file.
